


Caught Amidst the Roses

by Reyanth



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Barebacking, Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Shibari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 16:00:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15440598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyanth/pseuds/Reyanth
Summary: Slave to his desires, Atobe has earned the punishment his master, Taki, prescribes, and Tezuka is caught up in the execution.





	Caught Amidst the Roses

**Author's Note:**

> You can blame the third season Tenimyu nationals for this one, though it began back at Team Live.

Taki tapped the riding crop against his hand, letting his expression fall flat. “Face to the floor… Keigo.”

Bound and gagged, Atobe glared up at him with all the prideful will of the royalty he clung to portraying.

“Bend. Over,” Taki ordered, with a good deal more menace. “Bitch.”

One never realized how long and elegant Taki's legs really were until one of them hooked around your neck and a heeled boot pressured you down. Losing his balance, Atobe fell forward and turned his cheek to soften the landing with a growl.

By the time the instinctive response subsided, his eyes alone exhibited defiance, boring into Taki's with promise of public retribution when they were next in uniform.

“You might rule on the courts, King, but the bedroom is my domain,” Taki reminded him. “Now, Keigo dear... Roll over.”

Only Taki could make such a term of address sound so derogatory. Only Taki could send shivers down Atobe’s spine with such insults. All that natural elegance that put to shame Atobe's hard work to be perceived as such…

Taki had instincts that Atobe had to simulate. What he lacked in drive towards tennis, he made up in grace and poise. He was the kind of player people remembered—the kind that people wanted to cheer for. He played beautifully—just like he did everything else.

Just like he dominated.

As instructed, Atobe rolled onto his back—obedient, but far from meek. He lay there and admired the long lines and subtle strength that lightly pinned him, with the promise of that hard, thin boot heel grinding on his sternum generating a thrill of fear. He was stronger than Taki, but it didn’t take much strength to stamp through a couple of bones and a little flesh with the right heels...

Taki shrugged his ruffled black vest easily off his shoulders and Atobe was captivated by the efficient little roll of muscles meticulously defined and maintained—not too large and bulky, but definitely deliciously curved, without detracting from neat lines and a thin frame. He gazed up at the boy trapping him against the floor and a rush of excitement gushed through him like a contaminant. He couldn’t suppress it. He’d never been able to. There was just something overwhelming about Taki when he got like this.

The trick was not to reveal how he admired, adored, desired, and craved the dominion of that beautiful Adonis with his coppery waterfall of silken hair and white velvet complexion. Thus, he fought for control, acknowledging the molten heat in loins and channeling it into a show of defiance.

The bootheel scraped his chin and cheek, slipping under the silken gag and lifting, tugging it from the crevice of Atobe's mouth. Meanwhile, Taki popped open a single button of his shirt, black peeling away to reval more porcelain skin.

“If it takes you this long to undress, no wonder you’re always last out of the locker rooms,” Atobe sneered. “If there was a mirror in here, you’d never leave.”

“If here was a mirror in here,” Taki began with a smirk, letting the riding crop slap softly against his palm in reminder, “I’d bend you over in front of it and show you how desperate you look while I fuck you.”

That image hit home in two different ways at once. Atobe’s pride warred with his lust. His eyes widened and he grit his teeth, biting back the kind of snapped retort someone with less discipline might give in to.

Taki read his thoughts as they wrote themselves. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d love it. You love looking at yourself, and you love it when I pound you. You’d give anything to see it.”

Atobe remained silent. If he answered, he would give away his hand... but if he didn’t, Taki would still interpret-

“Tell me how much you enjoy having my cock up your ass. Go on. Say it.”

"Never."

*Thwack*

The crop left a red welt on Atobe's ribs.

"Say it."

"What kind of barbarian do you take me for?"

*Thwack*

"The kind of prideful scum who has earned a thorough thrashing. The kind of braggart who claims perfection while losing to a first-year brat. The kind of hypocrite, who-"

A primordial snarl of pure instinct warned Taki he had gone too far, a moment before the world surged and he landed flat on his back under a murderously furious Atobe. He exhaled. Where others would have panicked, struggled, or yelled for mercy, he smiled, a portrait of dangerous beauty.

"Temper, temper, Keigo. Is this the kind of discipline your father instilled?"

Atobe flinched, and a shard of fear cut through the fury. It seeped into him, diffusing as it went, but taking the anger with it. He struggled for balance, his arms still tied. Sheer size and weight had allowed him to topple the smaller boy. As adrenaline wore off, Atobe heavily regretted the lack of finesse.

This session was a bad idea. The loss was too fresh. Taki's calculated malice was too accurate and too soon.

Atobe retreated slowly, until he was on his knees, looking down at the pretty, frail-seeming boy who wore a confident, knowing smile, his body relaxed and at ease as though he were lounging there just to kill time. Gritting his teeth, Atobe spoke the words he knew were necessary to stave off true punishment, seething inside none-the-less.

"I am a hypocrite," he recited. "I expelled you from the regulars while exempting myself." He took a breath and closed his eyes, finally ready to confess to his failings. "I'm a loser. I let Ryouma Echizen get the best of me. I'm weak. I-"

"Enough!"

There was a whip-crack in Taki's voice, and though Atobe did not dare to look up as Taki rose, he heard the thick threat of tears too easily betrayed in the absence of an elegant, clipped tone.

"Why did you lose, Keigo?" Taki asked softly, his riding crop nudging Atobe's chin upward. "Do you even know?"

Perhaps it was Taki's emotion that affected him to well up with sympathetic tears he never let fall. The loss of their last shot at the national championship had hit the whole team hard, but perhaps none as heavily as Taki. Sentenced to watch from the bench, win or lose, while his rival triumphed and his beloved mentor in tennis crashed and burned before his eyes...

It was an unvoiced acknowledgement between them that Atobe's decision to exclude Taki from the lineup while elevating Hiyoshi and pardoning Shishido was purely personal. The tendrils of influence Taki wound about him in here could never be allowed to take effect out there, whether on the courts, or eventually in the board room. Such was Atobe's pride and the necessary measures he must take to concede to this one capitulation to weakness. Part warning, part revenge, he had flaunted his power over Taki out there in the real world, the way Taki overwhelmed him in here.

Did he know why he had lost? Because Echizen was strong, and because he had underestimated the pipsqueak. What leverage did Taki think to gain by rubbing it in?

"You really don't see it, do you...?" muttered Taki. "Lucky for you, I do..."

*

Tezuka had a lot of unnecessarily complicated feelings and a very specific impression of Atobe. That impression did not happen to involve bondage rope and a silk gag. The complication of his feelings only increased when faced with this very contrary reality on display in Tezuka's own locker room.

Standing on tiptoe, Atobe's arms were bound behing his back with silken red rope adorning his body in a fascinating pattern. The whole array was tethered to a hook in the roof and the benches usually set in that space were propped up against the wall.

"Euaaa!"

The muffled yell penetrated Tezuka's shock and prompted the statue he had become into motion. He tried not to look down Atobe's naked form but it was hard not to at least take in those strong pecs and defined abs... Very hard.

Clearing his throat, Tezuka first pulled the gag from Atobe's mouth, working it over his chin to hang down around his neck. No sooner had he accomplished this than his name was on Atobe's lips.

"Tezuka! Get me out of this!"

Unfortunately, Tezuka was at a loss. "I wouldn't know where to begin... How did you end up like this to begin with?"

"Does it matter!?"

Somewhat.

A great deal, actually.

"Fine. It was Haginosuke. Happy? Now go find some scissors!"

"Atobe, I'd need shears to cut through this rope. I'll have to try and unwork the knots."

"Well get on with it then."

"Of course... but... Why? Why would one of your team mates...?"

*

There wasn't a chance in hell Atobe was going to tell Tezuka about the kinky master/slave relationship he had with Taki, and certainly not that he was the slave... or that Taki had decided that Atobe's loss to Echizen was the result of an unhealthy obsession with Tezuka, and that his intention was to gift wrap and present Atobe to the rival captain so the two of them could work out their sexual tension...

"Far be it from me to decipher a maniac's death wish," growled Atobe as Tezuka inspected his bonds for a starting point to begin unravelling from. If that scrutiny was a little too intense and took a little too long, he could hardly blame Tezuka. In fact, thinking of the scrumptious sight he must make, and seeing how much Tezuka appreciated it, had a marked affect on his anatomy.

"Atobe..."

"Never you mind that. Just focus on the task at hand."

It hadn't quite occurred to Atobe that that meant Tezuka's hands and fingers brushing his skin, and sliding, shifting rope upon his flesh. If he moaned a little, Tezuka ought to overlook it.

When he opened his eyes (having closed them in pursuit of control), he found Tezuka's face near to his own, eyes glued to a knot of rope between Atobe's chin and collar bone as he pulled at the loose end of the thread. He could feel Tezuka's breath on his face and smell a faint, fruity scent like orange or lime. He took a deep breath, staring at the lips just out of reach that were parted slightly in concentration.

Damn Taki and his ridiculous plan. What made him think Tezuka would be into this, anyway? Not that it wasn't having an effect, but how could he have known?

"Tezuka," he breathed in response to a whisper of sensation, before he could stop himself.

Tezuka paused, then look up from the knot he was working on. He studied Atobe's eyes for a moment.

"What is it about my name?" he asked, looking a little bemused. "Why do you voice it so frequently, and so..."

"Passionately?" Atobe suggested. "It just feels good on my tongue."

To hell with Taki. This was Atobe's seduction now.

Tezuka simply dropped his gaze with a hint of bashfulness and went back to work. In the meantime, Atobe simply enjoyed the knuckles rubbing against his left nipple; the snag of rope there demanding some rough handling.

"Keep it up," he grunted, enjoying the multi-faceted entendre and the way Tezuka seemed determined to pretend he hadn't noticed. "Mmm, you could try biting it," he breathed.

To his surprise, Tezuka immediatlely bent down and curled his tongue around the knot, simultaneously licking Atobe's nipple. He drew the rope away from flesh, then caught it between his teeth, closing his lips over both rope and flesh.

It worked. The knot gave.

However, instead of moving on to the next, Tezuka drew Atobe's nipple between his teeth and held it lightly, suckling and flicking his tongue back and forth over the sensitive bud.

The bold move took Atobe by surprise.

"What are you...? Ungh... Tezuka..."

*

If Atobe overestimated Tezuka's resolve and underestimated his humanity, he wouldn't be the first. However, the circumstances were rather unique in that Atobe had no out should he desire it, and for some reason that made Tezuka bold.

However unsatisfactory the diva's explanations, Tezuka was convinced of one thing: Atobe was quite happy where he was. The only one in danger here would be Tezuka, the moment the rope was loosed. If Atobe was to be believed, and Taki Haginosuke was behind this, the true mystery was how he might have gotten within an inch of an unwilling Atobe with so menacing a length of rope. Something about the image of strong and sturdy Atobe Keigo overpowered by a waife of a player Tezuka barely remembered induced an uncomfortable thrill.

At first, he took some time to contemplate what it all meant and how he felt about it. However, every time Atobe uttered his name, he knew—for at least that moment—that he would do anything to hear it again.

By the time he realized it, his actions to free Atobe had already become blatant foreplay. He was enjoying the feel of perfected muscles and silky-smooth skin at his fingertips. The sexual sounds Atobe continued to make went straight to his groin. When, at last, he moaned Tezuka's name, the Seigaku captain caught his breath to stifle a moan of his own, but it escaped anyway, and with that reluctant release, the gate penning in his desire broke apart.

His right arm wound about Atobe's waist and his left slid up the underside of Atobe's right arm, no longer tied at the wrist behind his back. There was give in the suspension rope that hung from a hook up above, looped to the string between Atobe's shoulder blades, and Tezuka pressed the captive up against the lockers, kissing him fiercely.

Bound and restrained as he was, there was no restraint in Atobe's response. He welcomed Tezuka's tongue with an enthusiasm that generated rivulets of electricity in Tezuka's blood.

There was nothing sweet or gentle about it, nor was it a purely aggressive exchange. It was—as Atobe had so eloquently put—passionate.

Even as their tongues twined and wrestled, Tezuka tugged at the decorative binding that criss-crossed and wound about the length of Atobe's arm. Taki certainly had a yen for aesthetics.

There were more knots at the shoulder, but Tezuka was too distracted to tackle them. Pivoting a little on the tether rope, Atobe had hitched one strong thigh up over Tezuka's hip, so the Seigaku captain took hold of the other and hefted it into place, slamming Atobe against the lockers once more to pin him in place.

Torso held up by lockers and tether, legs levered up by Tezuka's body, Atobe leaned back, using the leeway of the cubby hole lockers, and wriggled his backside against Tezuka's crotch. It was as clear an invitation as could be. All that surprised Tezuka was that Atobe didn't even try and vie for the top.

A suspicion tugged at the tactitian in Tezuka. "Is this about the Nationals?"

Atobe met his gaze with an unreadable stare. "I didn't peg you for the chatty type," he jibed.

Tezuka raised his eyebrows, surprised at the too-easy target. He held his tongue. They both knew any retort would be far too obvious.

Atobe conceeded it with a whuffled snort. "This is about both you and me getting what we want and then moving on," he posed.

Deny it, and Atobe would call him out for a liar. The evidence was poking a sharp tent in his shorts and straining against the refined muscle of Atobe's sexy ass.

Question it, and that ass might decide he wasn't worth the vocalized shame and walk away for good. There may never come another opportunity quite like this.

It was Saturday evening and practice had ended hours ago. Tezuka had returned in search of a racket he planned to have restrung before Monday practice. No one else would be coming; no one would hear them. There was nothing stopping them from doing whatever they wanted.

Oh, but Tezuka did want the boy he held captive and willing. How could anyone pretend otherwise? Atobe was stunning, confident, talented, and flaunted all of the above relentlessly. Tezuka had wanted him from that first wet dream after meeting at the Jr. training camp for promising players. Now here they were... What was he waiting for?

With a groan, Tezuka shifted to support Atobe with his hips while ripping off his shirt, then slipped his glasses off and onto a shelf and took the other boy's lips roughly again. Atobe was already tugging at the waist band of his shorts so he lent a helping hand, shimmying them down and stepping awkwardly out of them with his quarry balanced against him, legs wrapped tightly about him. Atobe had thighs of iron.

*

If Atobe ever admit to fantasizing about Tezuka, it would be to say that he'd thought of taking the rival captain every-which-way imaginable. Not once had he ever thought he would find himself eagerly anticipating the rigid press of Tezuka's erection invading his body.

In reality, he was trembling with need, still plagued by the teasing chaffe of rope on skin and further aroused by the assertive behavior Tezuka exhibited. Yet now, his rival hesitated.

Still threaded with rope, Atobe's left arm wound about Tezuka's shoulders, elegant fingers curling about the curve of the stoic captain's neck. "What are you waiting for?" he asked. Then, knowing just how effective it had proved thus far, he drawled Tezuka's name as suggestively as he could.

The next thing he knew, his cheeks were parted and a strong, hard length was inching into him. He moaned, trying to throw his head back but coming up against the tether rope instead. So he opened his eyes and stared Tezuka down, breathing heavily with every new wave of the invasion.

He was dry as a bone and the going was rough, but he relished the sensation, and Tezuka didn't seem to care. Just how inviting had he looked all this time, trussed up and displayed like a prized pig...? If Tezuka's slack-jawed, closed-eyed expression was anything to go by, any other man would have fallen on Atobe immediately and devoured him on the spot.

Tezuka was not any other. He was a one-of-a-kind thoroughbred stallion, and he maintained a modicum of restraint until he was buried in Atobe's ass. There was a pause then; swollen, dry skin in a tight, dry passage making motion difficult. Tezuka adjusted his grip and Atobe clamped his thighs, pressing his torso into Tezuka and gripping the shelf of a locker cubby behind him with one hand.

"Stop me if you must," was all Tezuka grunted before bending his knees and surging upward.

At first, the motion was primarily external, but then something gave and Tezuka's length began to drag against every inch of Atobe's passage until those upward thrusts connected with the walls of his rectum and he cried out in elation. As usual, Tezuka had pinpoint accuracy.

Atobe remembered little after that except a blur of rising pleasure, bumps and bruises, and the increasingly uncomfortable chaffe of rope on his skin; Tezuka's warmth, the give and take of those primed musles, glittering hazel eyes, sweat dripping from a uniquely shaded brown forelock...

When he came, it was with a shout of the name that fell so freely from his lips and a tumbling of items as the locker shelf rocked dangerously from the force of Tezuka's final, shuddering thrust.

They'd peaked in tandem, clinging to each other and heaving with breath. Tezuka's hand slid up into his hair, stroking it back from his face. Atobe's vision was blurred with sweat and he blinked it away.

"Get me down," he croaked.

*

No sooner was Atobe freed than he began flexing his released muscles, drew up to his full height, and stirred Tezuka's blood with an intense, evaluating stare. He smirked, took a lazy glance at the floor littered with Seigaku's belongings, picked up Tezuka's glasses, and headed off toward the showers. "Coming?"

Wary of the change in demeanor, Tezuka followed, slightly hampered by blurred vision and various items that had tumbled to the floor during his vigorous ravaging of Atobe. He tripped and almost fell, surprised when Atobe returned to catch him, showing off admittedly superior reflexes.

The next thing he knew, he was scrabbling for purchase, grasping Atobe's neck and shoulders as he was swept up into absurdly strong arms before managing to regain his balance.

"Put me down, you-"

"Relax. We're already here."

Atobe smugly set Tezuka down in a shower stall and herded him up against the cold tiles, turning the hot tap so that the cold water would arc over them as it warmed up. He set Tezuka's glasses on an inbuilt tray that had long been devoid of soap and ran his fingers under Tezuka's chin, leaning in to block the bright stall light from straining eyes and then kissing him softly.

The gentle treatment didn't last long, and before he knew it, Tezuka's tongue was battling for control even as Atobe's hands roamed his body. Tezuka had explored to his heart's content, earlier, and now Atobe seemed determined to return the favor.

When strong fingers dug into his buttocks, Tezuka released an embarrassing hiccup into the kiss. The abrupt change in Atobe's demeanor had thrown him and now he could see that he was thoroughly under Atobe's power. He complied with the unspoken direction, tilting his head back as Atobe traced a stray rivulet of water down Tezuka's throat with his tongue.

Suddenly, Tezuka was dragged under the spray and rinsed down, then whirled and shoved up against the wall, Atobe cushioned neatly against his back. He moaned at the hardness that rocked against him.

What had happened to the more subdued and pliant Atobe, who had given himself over to Tezuka's keeping with little fuss? This was the Atobe Tezuka knew and expected, but he now found himself unprepared to stand his ground.

He flushed with new arousal as Atobe ran his fingers up and down the between his hips and thighs, massaging the clenched ring with every pass until stopping there to rub and pry. Tezuka swallowed, his length bobbing with new enthusiasm.

This was new territory for him. What he had practiced with Oishi before Kikumaru awakened to more mature pursuits had only ever been half the equation. Inui had been enthusiastic with hands and mouth, but no more. Fuji was decidedly submissive in that respect.

So there he was, unexpectedly excited to feel Atobe's fingers delve in to unexplored territory. He remembered his own advice to Fuji and relaxed his body and mind, exhaling steadily.

"I promise not to be quite so rough," Atobe crooned, subtly scolding Tezuka for his haste of earlier.

Before Tezuka could speak the apology that hesitated on his tongue, Atobe withdrew his fingers and his warmth receeded. Tezuka craned his neck, but Atobe was only gone for a moment. He retured with hand outstretched, and when he cozied back up to Tezuka and reach back down to fondle between thighs that had grown tense in his absence, the reason for it became clear.

Atobe had found soap in another stall and lathered up his hands. The alkaline stung mildly upon contact with more sensitive regions, but it slickened the way for Atobe's fingers... and more.

Before long, Tezuka was moaning with relative abandon, shocked at how receptive he was to Atobe's skilled touch. He felt like the proverbial clam, opening up its trove to be plundered and left bare.

The sentiment only increased as Atobe's hands settled on his his and guided him into allignment. Atobe's lips at his ear emit a soft, warmth that raised the hairs on his damp skin.

"I confess, there's very little I have to want for in this world," he spoke, in a voice thick with lust and deep with truth. "You should be honored."

He wanted to hear it. He wanted Tezuka to say he was honored, in essence, to beg. Tezuka refused. He clun to silence, waiting with baited breath.

"At least tell me you've wanted this, too," Atobe murmured, his lips grazing the rim of Tezuka's ear, his tongue flicking out to consolidate the fleeting caress.

"I have," Tezuka breathed in concession. "Perhaps not quite like this... but I have."

"You won't regret it," Atobe assured him, the head of his length already creeping between Tezuka's mounds.

Atobe took him just like that; crushed up against the shower stall tiles, with flecks of water spitting down upon them and rivers swirling at their feet. It was a kinder, gentler pace than that which Tezuka had set. There was less urgency and more tenderness, and Tezuka found that his pleasure mounted and crested several times before finally scaling a crescendo that left his whole body trembling and weak.

He sank gratefully into Atobe's arms then, letting his rival turn him around and help him lean into the wall. He reached down between them and grasped Atobe in his hand, fascinated by the alluring expressions and sounds Atobe exhibited at will as he, too, ascended to climactic heights and came back down.

The shower that followed was quiet and companionable. They cleaned up the club room together and parted at the door, Tezuka forgetting all about the racket he had come for in the first place and taking the long way home to contemplate all he had learned about himself and his rival.

*

A racket lay in the corner, reflected as a dull shape in the shadows of a candle-lit room at midnight. Atobe swelled with a slow, deep breath contrary to the relentless rocking of Taki's steady thrusts. When his capacity for breath peaked, he let it all out on a long, low moan, his eyes rivited to the reflective surface laid out alongside him.

He saw himself, flushed and glistening, muscles rippling with the consistent motion. He saw leather riding boots finished in vinyl, framing his lightly tanned skin and solid thighs. He saw skin, mysteriously pale for one who spent a great deal of time outdoors on the tennis courts pressed flush against his own flesh. He saw hips rise and fall in a rhythmic rotation that imitated a jockey on a trotting horse, and he saw the riding crop that tamed that horse flick restlessly agaist his waist.

With the sting of the crop, his body jerked and he gasped, crying out in the next second as the varied angle resulted in a burst of sensational sparks. Reaching down, he gripped Taki's thigh for purchase and held his thighs in a high arch while slamming his hips down into Taki's rising thrusts. Eyes on the mirror, he enjoyed every erotic nuance of the vision, just as Taki had taunted he would.

He was a shameful creature, and his lover was a shameless incubus. He would never be free of this enthralled existence, no matter who he beat, lost to, seduced, or surpassed. No matter how strong or powerful he became, he would always lose himself to the thorned rose that bloomed in his shadow.

With a rapturous grunt, Taki's hips jerked and rammed home hard. His abdomen spasmed as his expression warped with ecstacy.

When it passed, he took his time to regain his breath, wet his lips prettily, and fix his hair. "You may climax now, Keigo."

All it took was a tilt of the hips and a loosening of muscles clenched valiantly in restraint.

When the euphoria passed, Atobe peeled open his eyes to observe Taki, who was draped over him, chin resting on his chest. Waiting.

"Was Tezuka all you dreamed?" he asked.

"Tezuka was an itch I thoroughly enjoyed scratching, but he doesn't live up to my dreams."

"What do you dream of, Keigo?"

"Roses."

"You would."

"Yes. I would."


End file.
